


Melancholy

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Brian May, Depression, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Brian had struggled with it for years - it was always there, burning just below the surface, but sometimes, it got worse, like a flare-up, a sleeping volcano bubbling to a rise.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Melancholy

Brian had struggled with it for years - it was always there, burning just below the surface, but sometimes, it got worse, like a flare-up, a sleeping volcano bubbling to a rise. 

It was only when he decided to search up a psychology book at the library did he realize the true name to what his mother had always described as 'Perpetual Blues.' 

He often felt lethargic, withdrawn, alone in a group full of people. Brian found himself feeling exhausted even after a full night's sleep, and left with a distinct feeling of worthlessness, of not being wanted. _Depression,_ it was called, and it was a very fitting name, Brian had thought. It felt strange on his tongue whenever he said it, heavy and terrible. 

' _Hello, my name is Brian May, and I have depression.'_

In one way, it was nice to finally have a word for those horrible thoughts in his head. But in another way, it felt terrible. 

Because having a mental illness made him crazy, right? 

During his 'off' days, Brian felt nothing, like he was all numb, like there was nothing inside of him. No heart, no mind, just a body. On those days, the thoughts in Brian's head would get worse, rising into a crescendo of screams, of yells, of whispers, telling him to get a rope from the shed and tie it to one of the rafters, to grab a knife from the stand in the kitchen and slit his wrists, to jump off of the roof, to end a life that hadn't even begun. 

Brian didn't want to die, so he thrust himself into his studies, desperate for some sort of escape in the darkness of his thoughts. But the numbness would begin to overwhelm him, and Brian wanted to _feel_ something, even if it hurt, so he would hover his hand above a lit candle, just enough to feel the burn before pulling away, or he would grab the smallest knife from the kitchen and give himself a small little cut that would heal easily enough. 

But it was never enough. 

The thoughts would get worse, and Brian would give himself a cut instead of a scratch, a burn that would take weeks to heal, because, in a way, he was punishing himself. For what? Brian didn't know, but his brain told him to do it, and so it must be right. 

Eventually, his parents found out. 

His father found the knife that he'd been using underneath the bed, and Brian had healing burn scars, and they looked at him with a strange combination of pity and disgust, and it hurt so badly, that Brian wished for the numbness again because he'd hurt his parents, and he hadn't wanted to do that! 

They'd hired a therapist, a psychologist, and they gave Brian pills - told him that it would all be alright, that the pills would make him feel better. 

They didn't.

Instead, the pills made Brian's head get foggy, and make it hard to focus, so he stopped taking them, angry because nobody accepted him, sad because nobody would understand. Brian felt terrible for thinking that way - he couldn't help it. 

But then Freddie, with his dark, shining eyes and gentle voice, came into Brian's life, and turned it upside down, and Brian would've laughed if he wasn't so busy on trying not to cry. 

"Sometimes, I hurt myself." Brian confessed one night after a few hours spent at the pub. 

Brian had expected disgust, anger, rejection. 

Instead, Freddie had looked at him, eyes widened slightly in concern. "Is that so, darling?" He said, and he'd reached over, gently grasping Brian by the hand, his own fitting so perfectly within. "Is there anything I can do to help you?" He had asked quietly. "I know you have a hard time asking for help." 

The acceptance almost felt wrong, and Brian had to swallow thickly, searching for a suitable response. "Um - no. I just wanted you to know because, well, sometimes I become very - melancholy." Brian couldn't find his words, couldn't figure out how to properly form a sentence without stumbling over it. "And I didn't want to, if something happens, for you to be - unsure." 

A moment passed, perhaps two. 

Freddie smiled, squeezing Brian's hand. "I understand." He said. 

And it was at that moment that Brian knew Freddie was the one. 


End file.
